


Sacrifices

by Merilsell



Series: Lenyaverse: Sidestories [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: But Rather A, Character Study, Consent Issues, Dark Ritual, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Poor Alistair, This Is Not Meant To Be Titillating, Uncomfortable Smut By Design, because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merilsell/pseuds/Merilsell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair had never wanted to be less alone with a woman in his life than right now. In fact, he only ever wanted to be alone with one woman, and she was not even remotely close to being here. He shook himself, willing these entirely unhelpful thoughts away, and wished nothing more than being able to do the same physically.</p><p>My...rather gritty and uncomfortable version of the Dark Ritual from Alistair's POV, which is part of a bigger "Of Elves And Humans" chapter, but can be easily read on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifices

**Author's Note:**

> In here, (hardened) Alistair didn't become king at the Landsmeet, and is in an active relationship with Mahariel, namely Lenya. Just FYI.
> 
> The whole story (up to date) is to find here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5657481/1/Of-Elves-And-Humans

Morrigan's room was illuminated with the light of a myriad of candles, placed on the ground and the sparse furniture, in a pattern Alistair couldn't understand, nor even  _wanted_  to, decipher.

Their golden sheen danced in erratic shadows across the rough stone walls and enveloped the room in a creepy atmosphere such as the occasion deserved. Incense sticks slowly burned down in several corners, teasing his already queasy stomach with their musky-sweet scent lingering heavy in the air. Nothing felt as looming and oppressive as the large, wood-carved bed in the middle of the room, however. He had never wanted to be less alone with a woman in his life than right now. In fact, he only ever wanted to be alone with one woman, and  _she_  was not even remotely close to being here. He shook himself, willing these entirely unhelpful thoughts away, and wished nothing more than being able to do the same  _physically_.

"You... really thought this through, huh?"

Alistair startled as the door snapped shut behind Morrigan, and he couldn't help but feel trapped like a fly in a spider's lair. Given Morrigan's shape-shifting abilities, the comparison wasn't even  _that_  far off, which wasn't exactly an encouraging thought.

Morrigan gave an uncaring shrug as she sauntered into the corner, holding her vast repertoire of potions. "'Twas needed to prepare. And I had the inkling 'twould take a while to convince her and, in effect, you."

"But, you were so certain that I would... do it in the end... that you already made them?" He tensed even more, and anger flared within him, momentarily drawing out all panic and second thoughts. "All this time you've been traveling with us, and getting close to her, making her trust you... you  _knew_  it would end this way."

"I  _knew_  as soon you fell for her, that Lenya would be your sole, if strong, motivation to be here, should you be the only eligible one for the ritual, yes," she confessed, as nonchalant as if talking about the weather. "You are far too dutiful and dull a man to take up this offer otherwise."

His fingers clenched tightly to fists at his sides. "You are the worst."

"I also knew it would spare her life..." Her cool facade slipped for a moment, if calculated or in a real bout of emotion, Alistair couldn't say. "Which I want, like you. We are not so different in this regard, you and I."

"I'm  _nothing_  like you," he snapped and, involuntarily, stepped backward.

She let out a snort. "Keep telling yourself that if it consoles your fragile mind, I care not." She handed him a flask, her tone demanding. "Drink this!"

Alistair eyed the vial containing a thick lilac concoction thrust in his hands like the poison it probably was. "What is it?"

"I'm weary of explaining  _everything_." She sighed in annoyance. "But, if you must know: 'Tis a potion that will make your taint more receptive to me reaching out for it with my magic. 'Tis needed to ensure the ritual will work." Striding over with a piece of chalk in her hands, she drew a simple pentacle on the ground, interweaving and giving the pattern of the candles close by a meaning. His stomach twisted.

_How very comforting._

"Do not step on the lines when moving over here," Morrigan warned before downing an exact copy of the lilac potion that was still weighing heavy in his hands. "Now, you do not need an explanation for the part to follow, I hope. At least, not if Lenya's nightly moani–"

"Don't!" Alistair hissed through closed teeth, and watched with satisfaction how Morrigan stilled at his harsh tone. "Don't mention her name in this room anymore, or I will walk through this very door and die as a good Warden should."

"Oh? You are no good Warden, then?" Her eyebrow arched, and she reached behind her neck to undo the straps holding her scant robe together. Having no desire to see her undress, he turned to the candle by the door, watching the small drip of wax harden as it descended. He could hear his heartbeat and pulse thrumming too loudly in his ears, and it was not excitement that dictated their erratic rhythm. Glaring down at the flask in his hand, he took several deep breaths before uncorking it and swallowing its contents in one go. It tasted as horrible as he had thought it would: cloying and foul alike; a vile mixture.

 _I wouldn't be here if I were_ , he thought belatedly, and shuddered at the thought, though even more at the lingering taste within his mouth. He heard the shuffle of Morrigan disrobing and the contours of her naked curves shaped the shadows on the opposite wall all too clearly. Even with his back turned to her, he couldn't escape this particular picture. He averted his eyes from her form cast onto the wall. "Before we... begin, a few additional rules."

"Rules?" She laughed the word out, her tongue clucking at its end. "My, serious, aren't we?"

"Yes. You said I had to... actively participate." Alistair threw his tunic on the floor, next to the door. That way, it would be easily retrievable for his hasty flight... afterward. "So, rules it is. Or no demon baby. I'm not one of your templar toys you can push around at will like you did with those hapless fools in the Wilds."

There was a moment of silence, of what nature it was hard to discern. "Have it your way, then," she said eventually, seemingly not caring. "If this finally manages to make you stop talking and do what I brought you here for, I'll listen."

"Which brings me to the second one: Don't talk. Except for orders regarding this... ritual,  _shut up_. It will be difficult enough to work myself into a... ready state due to your presence. Your grating voice doesn't need to add to this problem."

She chuckled, seeming amused by the notion. "Less talking? On that we can agree."

Alistair got rid of his breeches, but kept his ire ever so close and wrapped it around his exposed body instead of the linen. "No kissing, nor hugging. The thought alone makes me want to throw up."

"This needn't be as unpleasant as you're making it, Alistair."

"No, I guess not." He turned in time to see her surprised expression and, hence, added quickly, "It will be worse." Looking directly at her, he found that this gesture lessened the allure of a naked woman in a bedroom significantly; aside from the fact that this woman was  _Morrigan_ , and thus less enticing to him by default, of course. He felt her gaze upon himself, appraising him like a piece of meat, and the disgust at that spurned him his next curt and harsh words. "I'm just here to fuck you and vanish quickly afterward. So let's keep it at that."

"Spoken like a true gentleman." Undoing the clip of her hair, she shook her head and let her long raven tresses fall over her shoulder. Her pert, full breasts moved with the motion, which made him keenly aware that he was  _also_  looking more than was needed. He rashly averted his gaze, though he saw her smirking in the corner of his eye. She was all too sure of herself and her effect on men, apparently. "It can be as perfunctory as you wish, as long the requirements are met."

Requirements meant in this case that he spend himself inside of her, and nothing of that sounded remotely alluring right now; much less the fact of actually impregnating her with this... act. Maybe he could forget that when he closed his eyes, pretend that it wasn't Morrigan, of all people, he was sharing this intimacy with. He shuddered, pushing the thought away as soon as it came. No, no,  _no_. Alistair didn't want to think of Lenya, least of all in this way, while bedding another woman. Even if she was his sole reason for being here, it wasn't right. In fact, everything about this felt wrong, wrong,  _wrong_.

Morrigan's raspy and sharp intake of air ripped him out of his bout of rising panic. All too soon, he recognized the reason for it. Resting her buttocks on her heels, she had her knees splayed open and head tilted slightly back while one hand descended past her dark curls, fingers moving in and out in a steady rhythm. "Must I do all the work on my own?" Her laugh was breathless, even a slight moan. "Or, are you enjoying the show, templar?" Contrary to his initial sort-of fascination, he had no desire to watch the witch fingering herself. Concentrating on getting rid of his last piece of clothing instead, he followed her onto the bed and lay down flat on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He could smell her, of course, noticed the disparate weight of her body as she shifted on the mattress, and how very awry and contorted every sensation felt compared to prior times. As soon as Morrigan straddled him, Alistair could only hope he would quickly reach the point of arousal where all that counted was his release, and he'd stop caring about everything else. Otherwise, this would be a  _long_  night, and not in a good way.

As if picking up on his thoughts, Morrigan rolled her hips, pressing her wet heat against his groin, probing for a reaction. He shuddered, though not for the reason she desired him to, but because her unwanted scent and warmth was inescapable now, trapped as he was underneath her. This could have been his life as king, couldn't it have? Not with... the swamp witch obviously, but he'd have had to bed another human woman who wasn't  _her_ , in the hope of being a successful, dutiful stud; for an heir and the future of Ferelden. Odd how he had come to appreciate the avoidance of such a cruel fate underneath a woman who was the embodiment of wrong; of all he hated. Leaning forward, the witch grasped his head harshly between both her hands and forced him to look at her. The fringe of her hair angled forward over his face beneath hers, her breasts, and her small, dark nipples moving above his chest. "Focus," she ground out, obviously frustrated by his apathy for her efforts, both physically and mentally, "or we will still be here when the troops march on the morrow."

"Right." The sigh he let out was weary, feeling all like the king he hadn't become after all, and yet forced to do his breeding duty. Without much enthusiasm, Alistair reached out to cup and then knead one full breast looming over him, nearly delicately so. Morrigan jerked back in surprise upon his unexpected touch before leaning much closer, prompting him to use his mouth. It was either that or suffocate, with her breasts pressed into his face, and as tempting the second choice seemed, it would also be entirely unhelpful in the long run. So, he focused on what he'd learned the past year, trying not to think about  _how_  this knowledge was acquired, nor how different the texture and size felt in his mouth, while he suckled and rolled his tongue over the puckered flesh.

Much to his embarrassment – or relief –  _this_  did finally have an effect on him, and he felt himself slowly hardening, though this was more due to instinct taking over than choice. Her breath grew ragged, the press into his lap more insistent and needy as she steered his attention toward the other breast, and he, rather reluctantly, obeyed. _How formulaic,_  he thought cynically, while trying to not breathe in too much of her.  _Pull lever, gate rises. Suckle random woman there, arouse her._

In between their bodies, he felt how her fingernails raked over the broad shoulders and then downwards to brush repeatedly over his flat, masculine nipples. He broke away from her at that, taken aback and ashamed by the new surge of arousal rushing through him, headed straight to his groin. Smirking, she moved away from his lap and, letting one hot hand rested on either muscled thigh, she continued to scratch her fingernails lightly across the insides there, causing him to hiss and curse alike. Involuntarily, his hips snapped upward, wanting more, before he gained control again. Ducking down even further, her head and mouth were suddenly dangerously close to his groin. Alistair didn't think it to be a bright idea – witchy claws and teeth and all – but his traitorous cock twitched and swiftly stood fully at attention upon the possible prospect of her full lips around it. Her chuckle, and the ensuing torturous puffs of hot air so very close to his now engorged tip, with the trails of her long hair teasing it as well, didn't help either in fighting the sudden, dangerous urge to take and steer her head into the needed proximity. Maybe she was even waiting for him to do so, or maybe she was just as evil and cruel as always. "My, aren't you so very eager all of a sudden?" Her purred words were deliberately slow, pronounced and hot on his skin  _there_ , but the sound of her voice perfectly undid the spell of raw want.

Instead, he sat up and withdrew, grimacing. "Ugh, could you just stop talking?"  _Or stop existing, more like._

Shrugging, she pushed him back down with one flat hand and he turned his head away, eyes pressed shut. He didn't want to know, nor see what was happening. Alas, he didn't need either. For her fingers ran along the underside of his shaft before giving a gentle pump, pulling over the fleshy ridge of his head. As she rolled it back down and repeated the movement, familiar pleasure mounted inside and thankfully pulled him away from the moment and circumstance. Though not for long, or long enough, since right after this, he found himself grasping for her wrist to make her stop. While he'd reached the point where he yearned for pressure and friction, he didn't want it like this... not  _her_. Sitting up and schooling his breathing to a normal level again, he glared at her. "I would prefer you not touching me."

"What? You'd prefer my mouth instead? " And at that, the traitorous bastard twitched again, even more than before, which brought an all too smug grin into her face.  _Ugh_.

"No." Alistair groaned out, this time frustration its cause. "I'd prefer we reduced the whole thing to the... necessities. No, ugh,  _extras_."

"Your loss." Another shrug. "But, seeing you so very eager about me sucking you, you mustn't have experienced the enjoyment of that yet, hmm? Didn't  _she_  do that for y–"

"Shut up! I said no mentioning her name here!" he snapped, his fingers tightening around both of her wrists.

"I haven't, fool."

"I don't care! Just shut your filthy mouth!" Alistair knew she was baiting him, but he rose gladly to the challenge. The ire and hatred for the woman in front of him suddenly trumped all common sense. With one rash and rather rough movement, he turned her around and pinned her flat on her back into the mattress, gaining the upper hand in effect. Morrigan shrieked in surprise, though overall seemed... pleased with his reaction? Her nonchalance made him only angrier. "I don't want you to say another word to me, nor for you to touch me until I'm done. Do you hear me? Because if you do, so help me, I will get up and walk out of this room, never mind your damned ritual."

She grinned at him knowingly, and even wider, as he roughly parted her legs with his knee to move himself in between them. His head turned away from her and breathing through his mouth, he spat into his hand and corrected the slight loss of hardness with a few brisk pumps, and some more to hopefully shorten this whole disgraceful ordeal. His fury blinded him and made him care less about everything and, thus, seemed to be a blessing in disguise. Pulling her closer to him by her pale thighs, he only looked down long enough to position himself correctly, and entered her swiftly with one single plunge. Morrigan gasped out as he filled her so suddenly, but was already meeting his second thrust with her own hips, and wrapped her legs around his hips to keep him in place. Not that he cared. He just wanted it to end, to be away. And, for this, he had to fuck her till the point of release, and not a second longer.

_Be a good breeding stud._

His anger spiked at the thought, adding to his movements, but suddenly he felt something sharp stab into him. He squirmed in alarm, only to find that the stab was somewhere inside him, not something he could move away from. Looking down in sudden panic and confusion, he saw her smirking and knew she was its cause. Fixing the grey wall in front of him again, Alistair gritted his teeth and hushed the impulse to drain her mana as he felt Morrigan's magic reaching further into him, toward the taint, before it then widened in him, splitting him open. It had the uncomfortable sensation of ripping a tunic apart, with him being the stretched fabric. The sensation too much, his hands clawed into the bed's headboard, and he cried out in pain, momentarily stilling his deep thrusts.

"Don't... stop!" Morrigan ground out, despite his prior warning, but this was an order, not a needless, scathing comment. Hence, despite his better judgment and the lingering pain, Alistair picked up his pace again and, fueled by the burn of ire and resentment, even added to it, until the uneasy ripping sensation was replaced by his chase for release again. Eyes pressed shut and not breathing in her scent, nor touching her, he pounded into her, again and again. Alistair couldn't care less for her needs or sounds right now; he was too far gone to care for anything but the tight coil in his groin spreading further inside until the snapping point. Minutes felt like hours, too long, and sweat already beaded on his forehead and body due to his intense and frantic tempo. It was mindless, unaltered fucking, not more. But, being so close and nearly _there,_ he needed this, so that the pleasure could mount and crest further and further, toward its inevitable end. It happened finally,  _finally,_  after another profound plunge that he came and, with his whole body growing rigid, he emptied himself deep inside of her.

Mentally counting up to ten, he waited, to make sure he stuffed her up well enough with his seed, to be certain to have done his job. Then, Alistair jerked away from the witch in a fit of sudden disgust with her, but particularly with  _himself_. His skin crawled where it had come in contact with Morrigan, and he felt besmirched with her filth, most of all intimately. He looked down at himself and grimaced at the sticky sensation that coated his now limp cock, noticed how it was already starting to dry in the folds. The stench of sex and mingled fluids was suddenly overpowering and nauseating in the room, and also seemed to be stuck persistently to his heated, sweaty skin. Even as little as they had touched, thankfully, Alistair could feel her  _everywhere,_ sickeningly so. He had to get away, rinse her filth off with as much water and soap as he could find until he'd scrubbed himself raw, and –

"Hmm, my, my. I didn't know you had  _that_  in you, Alistair..."

Her mocking voice made his recoil even more intense, and so he half-tumbled, half-sprung out of the bed, while Morrigan didn't move at all. Alistair didn't care about that, paid no heed to his still slightly hazed mind, nor racing heart, the urge to flee paramount to everything. Cringing under her gaze while he yanked his breeches up, he strode toward the exit right away, omitting his small-clothes and tunic in favor of speed, to get away more quickly. Halfway out of the door already with his back turned to her, Morrigan's voice stopped him once more. It had lost its mocking edge, sounding even soft and understanding.

"'Twill work, don't you worry."

Alistair was worried about other things  _far_  more important right now, though  _this,_  too, in regard of everything it had cost him. "It had better," he ground out as an answer, as harshly as possible, and started his flight down the dark hallway, silent in the night, never looking back.


End file.
